A Cry In The Heart
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #21 Lauren Fielding encounters Sybok when he takes over the Enterprise, and it seems that Spock has not told her everything about the renegade Vulcan. Sybok is fascinated by his brother's woman, and Spock's loyalties are even more deeply divided.


_Evening had fallen in ShiKahr, and with it a hollow silence that clung like storm-dust to the estate house. Yet as he listened hard—yes, there it was again—the faint sound of closets being stripped, drawers hurriedly emptied. Hearing it, he could no longer sit still. A nameless emotion drove him to the open doorway of his brother's room. Sybok was there, just as Spock had pictured him. Packing._

 _Young Spock swallowed hard. Squaring his boyish shoulders he said, "Take me with you, Sybok."_

 _Sybok stopped and looked up, his strong Vulcan face openly showing his surprise. "What is this? A change of heart?"_

 _Spock cast a nervous glance behind him. The hall was empty. Moving fully into his brother's room, he shut the door. "I will help you," he persisted. "We will find Sha Ka Ree together."_

 _Sybok's dark eyes glistened with forbidden emotion. "I thought you, too, had condemned me—" His voice broke off and he sighed with regret. "But it cannot be, Spock. You are only thirteen. Sarek would never allow it."_

 _"I do not care," Spock said defiantly._

 _"Don't you? Spock, you crept in here like a naughty khree pup straying from its burrow. In a moment Sarek will be looking for you. What will you tell him?" He cocked his head. "There, now. Hear it? He is already calling."_

 _Spock started guiltily at the sound of their father's voice. Sybok gave a sad, knowing nod. "Go, little brother. Do not let him find you here with me or there will be more trouble."_

Spock wavered. His heart ached with love for this half brother that had overlooked Spock's human blood and accepted him as an equal. Why had Sybok abused his mental powers? Why had he chosen the forbidden path of emotion? For Sybok's sake Spock had thought he was willing to defy the elders, to turn from the ways of modern Vulcan and follow him into exile. He had thought Sybok would welcome him, encourage him, and most of all take his side against Sarek.

 _"Spock!" Sarek's commanding voice echoed through the house._

 _White-faced, Spock looked to his brother, but Sybok had resumed packing. His eyes filled with tears of hurt and confusion. Tearing himself away, he stumbled out the door…_

Abruptly the dream faded. Spock awakened with his arm outstretched, as if reaching for someone in the darkness beside him. He was alone in his bed aboard the Enterprise, but he would have liked to share the recurring nightmare while it was fresh in his mind. Twice in as many days he had almost revealed the dream to Lauren Fielding, but each time he had stopped himself. He had not wanted to infect her with his own worry—and frankly, Sybok was an embarrassment to him and his entire Vulcan family.

Spock thought of the hostage situation on Nimbus 3 and his first sight of the terrorist leader on the bridge screen No matter how many times he reviewed the image, his sense of disquiet remained. If the blurred face was really that of his exiled brother—if Sybok had turned terrorist—there were far more important considerations at hand than personal embarrassment.

This morning they would be arriving at Nimbus 3 on a ship that was barely functioning—transporters out, communications unreliable. The situation was rife with danger. Spock had done what he could to alert the captain. Shouldn't Lauren also be told while there was still time?

Spock got up and readied himself for the day. Though it was barely 0500 hours, he knew he would find Lauren at work in her lab. Their mental connection had developed to the point where he could usually determine her whereabouts, especially when she was concentrating. It pleased him, this intimate sense of knowing. Her PSI rating was high for a human. With time and patience, the bond between them would grow even stronger.

Spock passed several repair crews on his way to the medical department. Sure of what he would find, he entered sickbay and quietly went to a dimly lit workstation in the rear. Lauren was bent over her biocomp, the light of the display screen reflecting on her face. He stopped and for a moment stood gazing at her.

Lauren looked up, smiled, and gave a languorous stretch that seemed to engage every inch of her body. "Strange," she said. "I was just thinking of you."

"Indeed." Spock came closer and cocked an eyebrow at the plakir-fee research showing on her biocomp. "More likely you were thinking of my blood."

Lauren laughed and turned up the lights. "Would you mind? My stock _is_ a little low, and since you're here anyway…"

Spock did not want to take the time, but as always he found it difficult to deny her anything. Slipping an arm out of his uniform jacket, he rolled up his sleeve. Lauren pressed an extractor to his wrist. He felt the usual tingle of discomfort as his green blood flowed into the extractor ampule.

Lauren's eyes twinkled with mischief. "There was a time when you thought I only cared about your research value…"

Spock knew she was teasing him, although he did not entirely understand why she sometimes enjoyed doing so. He watched in silence as she removed the extractor and rubbed at the tiny bruise it left. Her fingertips were cool and gentle, lingering on his skin as her eyes rose to meet his. What she found there sobered her.

"Is something wrong?" she questioned.

For a moment Spock's resolve wavered. How much should he tell her? There were parts of his past that he no longer remembered clearly, but his thirteenth year—the year Sybok came to live with his family—was vivid in its play of images and emotions. "You are aware," he began cautiously, "of the situation on Nimbus 3." At Lauren's nod he continued. "The leader of the terrorist force appears to be Vulcan—in fact, he appears to be a Vulcan I once knew."

Lauren's face registered surprise. "A Vulcan? Are you sure?"

Spock hesitated. How could he admit that the terrorist might in truth be more than an old acquaintance, more even than a long-lost friend? That at one time this terrorist may have filled him with brotherly love and admiration? "No," he said at last. "I am not certain. But if this man is the Vulcan I remember, he possesses extraordinary mental powers and will use them indiscriminately. Do not let him near you."

"Near me?" Lauren echoed uncertainly. "Spock, who is this man? How could he possibly get near me? Why would he even want to?"

Her questions hung in the air, unanswered. He should have known that she would not be satisfied with anything less than the whole story. It had all seemed so simple to Spock as he lay thinking about it in bed. And perhaps it was, after all, a simple matter—of concern—of trust.

"Spock?"

He became acutely aware of Lauren's hand still touching him. The Vulcan heat of his body had warmed her fingers. Protectively he enclosed the soft, human hand in his own. She must be made to understand—all of it. He must let her see for herself that thirteenth year with all its joyous revelations and bitter heartaches. Then she would know Sybok as he did—charming, obsessed, manipulative. Then she would truly be prepared.

Slowly, gently, he brought his fingers into contact with the side of Lauren's face. Her blue eyes were welcoming. Her mind opened to him like the petals of a rare, beautiful flower—then snapped shut in embarrassment. Spock withdrew his hand. Instinctively he turned…and found Doctor McCoy standing nearby, staring at them with his mouth agape.

"Uh…it's okay, don't stop for _my_ sake," McCoy drawled, and broke into a foolish grin.

With determined calmness Spock turned down his sleeve and rearranged his jacket. He should never have let down his guard in a common duty area, whatever the hour, whatever the reason. Now word of this would be all over the ship. The timing could not have been worse. "It is quite alright, Doctor," he said with all the chilly composure of Surak himself. "I was giving Doctor Fielding a sample of my blood for her research. We are finished."

McCoy's smile spread ear to ear. "I just bet you are."

Spock gave the doctor a withering glance, which only seemed to increase McCoy's amusement. Not knowing what more to do, he inclined his head at Lauren and left with what little remained of his dignity.

McCoy faced Lauren, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Why, that sly devil…" Lauren pressed her lips together and tried to go about her business. McCoy followed her to Specimen Storage and hung at her elbow as she processed Spock's blood. "I _knew_ it," he gloated. "I just had a sneaking feeling ever since—" Lauren swung away and went back to her worktable. McCoy followed her step for step. "—ever since Genesis," he persisted. "Hot damn! Spock's in love!"

Lauren was about to sit down when she turned to her superior with all the poise she could muster. "Doctor, is there some reason you came to see me?"

McCoy pointed at her face with glee. "Why, Laurie, I do believe you're blushing."

"And you, Doctor McCoy, are overstepping the bounds of good taste."

"Woo-ee!" McCoy rocked back on his heels. "You're even startin' to _sound_ like him!"

oooo

The day had not begun well for Lauren, and the passing hours brought no improvement. There had been no further chance to see Spock before he went down to Nimbus, no chance to find out what more he had wanted to tell her, and why. By mid-shift she felt increasingly uneasy. It was no longer simply a matter of concern over what McCoy might say today, and to whom. Klingons were in the area and the shuttle returning the command crew from Nimbus had crashed during a powered entry into its bay. Ever since, even stranger things had been happening.

Lauren's troubled gaze traveled the length of sickbay. It was quiet in here, eerily quiet, considering. She watched as Doctor Chapel ministered to one of the patients involved in the accident. Though the man's injuries were minor, his eyes had a glazed, unnatural look. Lauren's skin crawled when he smiled at her. Even so, Lauren smiled back. Her reaction was more difficult to control when Chapel offered her the same glassy look and gushed a warm, mushy smile. Yes, something was wrong _Very_ wrong.

Lauren went over the day's events in her mind. News of the shuttle crash. The injured arriving in sickbay with that ragtag band of archaically armed civilians. The peculiar change that later came over Doctor Chapel and others.

"What about Doctor McCoy?" Lauren spoke up. "And Captain Kirk? And—" she braced for one of Chapel's glacial retorts, "—and Mister Spock? They were in the shuttlecraft, too. Shouldn't we call them in for examinations?"

Chapel dismissed the patient and gave Lauren a honey-sweet smile totally out of character. "Oh, they're fine, dear. Don't worry, we're all in good hands."

 _And what does that mean?_ Lauren wanted to demand. _In good hands? Whose hands?_ But some instinct of preservation kept her tongue still and made her nod as if she understood already—yes, as if she understood perfectly. Spock's words repeated back to her with sickening force. _Extraordinary mental powers…will use them indiscriminately…do not let him near you…_

The door to sickbay groaned open. Several ragged civilians struggled in with a limp and bleeding Mister Scott. Chapel directed them to an examination table and set to work, as calm and unquestioning as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Lauren glanced from the civilians' primitive-looking weapons to the gash on the chief engineer's forehead.

"What happened to him?" she asked. "And who _are_ you people, anyway?"

"Prisoners escaped," said a baldheaded man with unsightly teeth. "We found him so."

"Prisoners? What prisoners?"

The man gave a blissful smile and left with his unwashed, unidentified companions. On the table Scott moved slightly and moaned. Lauren went over and held his head still while Chapel completed her diagnosis.

"No sign of concussion," Chapel said, eyeing the wall panel. "Take care of that gash, Fielding."

Lauren let out a sigh of relief. After closing Scott's wound she stayed nearby, hoping to speak to him alone when he regained consciousness. Before long his eyelids fluttered open.

"Mister Scott," she said low.

His eyes focused on her face. He grimaced in pain. "Doctor Fielding…is that you, lass?"

She nodded. "Mister Scott…what happened? What's going on?"

Scott groaned. "They've taken over. That _madman!_ His hands fast on the captain's throat, an' Spock just _standin'_ there! I dinna understand—I just dinna!"

Lauren's blood ran cold. "Captain Kirk—is he…dead?"

"No. I dunno. I busted them outa the brig—Spock, too. Back thick as thieves, they were. I tell ye, none of it makes a bit o' sense…"

At that Scott drifted off, leaving Lauren to ponder his disturbing remarks. Commander Uhura entered sickbay, caught sight of Mister Scott, and rushed over to him. Her dark face fairly glowed with affection. Caressing the engineer tenderly, she murmured, "Oh Scotty, dear Scotty…"

Unnoticed, Lauren edged her way to the exit and backed into the corridor. The door snapped shut in front of her. But she was not alone. Even without looking, she knew it. The power of his presence gripped her as if he were reaching out with both hands. Terrified, she turned.

The bearded, longhaired Vulcan probed her with his black eyes and smiled.

oooo

Spock reached his quarters at a dead run and muscled open the sticking cabin door. The interior was clear of Sybok's soldiers. Relieved, he went to his closet and hurriedly changed into levitation boots. He had taken a chance coming here. If he were caught, Sybok could easily wrest Kirk and McCoy's location from his mind. Spock thought of his friends slowly toiling their way up the rungs of turboshaft three, which was currently off-line for repairs. He would enter the shaft on this level, levitate down to their position, and then rise with them to the top of the shaft. From there they would make their way to the emergency signaling console in the forward observation room. Starfleet would be alerted to their situation. A criminal had taken control of the Enterprise. A renegade Vulcan—his brother Sybok.

Spock had not yet recovered from the first shock of meeting Sybok face to face. The love and pain Sybok aroused in him were more powerful than any nightmare. But now that he had escaped there was no time to collect himself in meditation, no time to consider what action he might yet be forced to take against his own brother. In shuttle bay he had held Sybok at gunpoint, only to back down. He could not bring himself to fire even when Sybok's hands were at the captain's throat, endangering the life of his friend. How would he react if Lauren's life were at risk?

He was strapping on the levitation control belt when his mind froze and his hands fell to his sides. Lauren's outcry came loud and clear—a cry in the heart, urgent and staggering with intensity. She was in danger. In sickbay. With Sybok.

Spock started for the door, and then stopped himself. Sybok would want him to react emotionally. Sybok would expect him to forget his duty and come charging after Lauren in a primal rage.

Precious time was passing.

Spock reached deep within for the saving logic of Vulcan. Lauren was already in Sybok's hands. What was to be gained by rushing into a confrontation with his brother now? Spock had no illusions as to which of them was the stronger, mentally and physically. But with Sybok distracted, the chance of reaching the signaling equipment may have improved. And once Starfleet was alerted—

In control of himself, Spock opened his cabin door. Outside, the corridor was empty. He drew a deep breath and moved forward.

oooo

The Vulcan threw back his head and laughed, pausing only to look once more at Lauren and burst into fresh laughter, as if she were the butt of some tremendously humorous joke. Beside him, his scruffy comrades nodded and smiled along. Lauren's fear mingled with puzzlement. What sort of man was this? He looked like a sand-baked Vulcan tramp, but he acted human—completely human. Unpredictable. Dangerous, as Spock had warned. Yet even as he laughed, the mesmerizing warmth of his eyes drew her.

The Vulcan's laughter subsided. Still smiling, he extended his arms in a broad gesture of welcome. "Doctor Lauren Alice Fielding, is it not?"

"Yes," she said warily.

"Ah." He glanced at his soldiers as if to include them. "Lovely, isn't she? Spock has chosen well." Perhaps he read the confusion in her eyes. "What? Didn't he tell you?"

Her heart was pounding harder than ever. She shook her head.

"I don't think he quite approves of me," the Vulcan said with some amusement. "Although, there was a time—But _you,"_ he interrupted himself. "Human, yes? Remarkable! You must tell me how that tight-assed brother of mine managed to attract a woman of your charms."

Lauren's thoughts tumbled. Spock's _brother?_ Was it true? How did this man know about their relationship? Through McCoy? Through Spock himself? Or had he pillaged Chapel's mind with all its petty jealousies and suspicions? Whatever the answer, she must not allow herself to fall under this Vulcan's spell. She must not give him the opportunity to use her against Spock.

The door to sickbay opened. The Vulcan turned a friendly face on the startled human who appeared in the doorway. "Mister Scott."

Scott cast Lauren a worried glance, but the Vulcan took a step forward, forcing him back into sickbay. Lauren was alone with the Vulcan's soldiers. For a moment she hesitated. Then turning, she boldly started to walk away.

"Stop!" a soldier shouted.

There was a clatter of rifle bolts and some sort of ammunition flowing into the firing chambers. The skin prickled at the back of Lauren's neck as she turned. "Will you shoot me?" she asked in an impossibly steady voice. "You heard what your leader said. I'm his brother's woman."

The simple-minded soldiers gaped at one another in confusion. "You _stay,"_ insisted the bald-headed fellow, but it was more of a plea than a demand.

Ignoring him, Lauren stepped up to the turbolift and signaled for a car. The lift doors sprang open. Before she could move, a hand seized her, yanking her backward with a force that rattled her teeth.

Baldy grinned and thrust a gun barrel in her face. "You will stay, yes? For Sybok—for the shiav?"

oooo

A prisoner in her own lab, Lauren sat meticulously avoiding the penetrating gaze of her captor. Could she believe anything Sybok had been saying? What was meant by the term "shiav" that his followers used? Why this overwhelming interest in her? Simple curiosity? Or was his motive, as she feared, a far more sinister one?

"Lauren." Sybok's voice had a tender soothing quality that Lauren made a conscious effort to resist. "This is good," he said, "you and Spock together. But I know my poor brother's inadequacies. At times your relationship with him must be…difficult. Even painful."

Lauren kept her eyes on the table separating them. How dare he speak to her of something so very private? What did he really know of Spock, of her? By his own admission he had not seen his brother since Spock was in his teens.

"I don't mean to criticize him, "Sybok went on. "It isn't entirely Spock's fault. All those Vulcan inhibitions were drummed into him as a child." He paused and she could almost hear him smiling. "But soon he'll be given another chance. Soon he'll see the way."

Lauren glanced up, angry. " _Your_ way, right? You would endanger this ship and its entire crew, you would hurt your own brother—anything to get _your_ way."

Sybok looked wounded. "You don't understand. This ship is necessary for my mission—a mission that will benefit the entire Federation, the entire galaxy. Beyond the Great Barrier lies Sha Ka Ree, and I'm taking you there."

"Sha Ka Ree?" Lauren asked.

Sybok's face glowed with joy. "The paradise planet—perhaps you would call it Eden."

Startled, Lauren said with sarcasm, "And I suppose God lives there? On this planet of yours?"

Unruffled, Sybok gazed at her. His eyes—they were so caring and intelligent. The eyes of a prophet. The eyes of a mystic, reflecting some secret knowledge only he could impart. Dark and magnetic, they seemed to embrace her as he leaned over the table. "You'll come to believe," he said in a low, convincing voice. "You'll come to share the splendor of my vision. And then…we'll share it with Spock."

Lauren felt her heart thumping in her chest. She wanted to look away, but somehow his gaze held her. There was a moment of crawling panic…and then she no longer had the will to look away.

Softly he said, "Your pain runs deep. Here…let me help…"

 _…It was the Christmas of her twelfth year, the night her parents' marriage ended. With rising dread Laurie recognized her childhood home, decorated for the season. A silver Menorah cast its hopeful light from a table. A lifelike nativity crèche shared space with presents under a brightly lit tree. She was sitting on the floor with her brother Larry, quietly playing a game._ _Quiet. Be real quiet. Don't do anything to disturb Dad._ _But outside, the sound of carolers grew steadily nearer. "Joy to the world," they sang, voices raised, carefree, not knowing. Louder and louder and then the knock at the door._

 _Paralyzed with fear, Laurie dropped her game piece._ _Don't answer it,_ _her heart pleaded, but there was her mother, small and brave and unwitting, her hand already on the doorknob._

 _The door swung open. Wide-eyed, Laurie stared at the carolers' happy faces. Men and women and children, their mouths moving, their cheeks rosy with the chill of night._ _No,_ _she thought._ _Stop, please!_ _But it was already too late. Roused from his drunken slumber, Tom Fielding burst into the room. Laurie watched, horrified, as her father lurched to the door and shouted obscenities at the carolers. Slowly the singing died, voice by voice._

 _Larry caught hold of her hand and tried to pull her from the room, but her legs wouldn't work. And Dad was slamming the door, turning, looking wild-eyed for something to destroy. He grabbed the Christmas tree. Colored lights went dark and ornaments fell as he hurled the little evergreen. Shouting and sobbing, he kicked at the exposed presents, at the toppled crèche. Figurines went flying through the air, slammed into a wall, and shattered. A moan of terror and despair rose up in Laurie as her father turned once again and beheld her with a face distorted by drunken rage. Larry stepped in front of her. Mom began to shout—_

 _"Shiav!" No, not her mother. The voice was masculine, urgent. It came again. "Shiav!"_

…The scene around Lauren wavered. At the edge of her perception she heard footsteps, the rustle of clothing. She awoke as if from a drugged sleep to find soldiers surrounding the table she and Sybok shared.

Sybok turned to his men, visibly angry. "I told you no interruptions!"

"Yes," bowed the baldheaded one, "but the escaped prisoners have been located. They are in a room on the observation deck. It seems…they have sent off a message to their Starfleet."

Sybok's eyes glittered at the news. Abruptly he stood. "Come. We'll pay them a visit." At the door he paused only long enough to glance over his shoulder and smile at Lauren. "You too, Doctor Fielding. Come."

A soldier pulled her from her chair. As she moved through the corridors, the mists of shock slowly gave way to outrage over what Sybok had done to her. The aftereffects of his mental intrusion left her feeling shaky and nauseous. If not for the interruption, she would probably be a walking automaton like these others. Surely Sybok knew that her transformation was not complete. He would be coming for her again.

Lauren watched him—so confident and energetic, his face alight with boyish eagerness. He could scarcely wait to catch Captain Kirk in the act, and Doctor McCoy, and most of all, his brother. Once the command crew was recaptured, Sybok would show her off to Spock. What might happen then, she did not want to consider. But she knew in her heart that Spock would not stand idle as had in shuttle bay, torn by conflicting loyalties. A Vulcan would fight in defense of his woman. A Vulcan might kill…or be killed.

Lauren slackened her pace as they arrived on the observation deck. No one showed concern as she slowly dropped to the rear of the group. Perhaps the soldiers thought she was under Sybok's control. As they rounded a corner and approached the forward observation room, not even Sybok noticed that one among them was missing. It was not until he reached the door and turned, smiling, to beckon her forward, that he realized his mistake. By that time she was four decks below and still descending.

oooo

Spock, Kirk, and McCoy exited the observation room and were immediately confronted by Sybok and his armed followers. Spock looked on his half brother with thinly veiled contempt before quickly scanning the other members of the group. He had fully expected to find Lauren among them. What had they done with her? Sybok's face revealed nothing.

Spock curbed an impulse to take his brother apart. For a brief moment he turned his attention inward, to the incipient link he shared with Lauren. What he found reassured him. The terror in her mind had subsided. She was safe for the moment. Far below decks, in hiding.

He quickly buried the information and did what he could to fortify his mental shielding—a useless, purely instinctive response. If Sybok chose to invade Spock's mind, there would be no stopping him. Rather than risk permanent mental injury, Spock would have to let down his shields and endure the indignity of Sybok's intrusion, hoping at most to lure Sybok away from those areas most sensitive to Lauren and himself.

As Spock awaited Sybok's next move, the sudden realization struck—sharp and painful—that he no longer held any brotherly feelings for the renegade Vulcan. No fondness, no compassion, not even an awkward stirring of pity for what Sybok had become. He found himself regretting that he had not killed Sybok when he had the chance.

oooo

It was quiet in the belly of the ship, and cold, for the frigid currents of deep Space infiltrated the shadowed tangle of hull bracings. Lauren stumbled into the first privacy cubicle she found—a lock on the door, a view of the stars, a padded day bunk. Adjusting the heat control, she sank down on the little bed, shivering. On her way here she had kept trying to reach Spock and the captain, using her combadge and the ship's intercom stations. She had wanted to warn them of Sybok's approach, but either the entire com system was malfunctioning or Sybok had deliberately disabled it. She shuddered to think of what was happening overhead. She could only hope that Sybok would not do his brother any serious harm. What Sybok had done to her was terrible enough—making his way into her mind, forcing her to relive the trauma of that Christmas Eve so long ago. It was as if she had seen it happening right there before her eyes. "Let me help," he had said, and she _had_ felt him at her side, sharing the pain, encouraging her to face the past with him and grow stronger. But she had resisted with all her might. She had tried to wrench herself away—from the memory, from the pain, but most of all from Sybok himself. There were places within her that belonged only to Spock, and even he would not think of entering them without her permission.

Feeling sick, Lauren curled up on her side and pillowed her aching head with her arm. The little room was warm now. A moment of rest, that was all she needed. Then her mind would settle. She would be able to think clearly. She would devise a plan…

Time slipped by.

Lauren heard sounds—faint, distant murmurs and hummings that were somehow reassuring. Little by little the sounds grew louder. A voice spoke. Something touched her arm, warm and insistent. She forced her eyes open. A head-splitting whiteness assaulted her baffled senses, almost blinding her to the dark form seated at her side. _Sybok?_ Panicking, she tried to sit up, to get away. His hand tightened its hold. The man leaned in and now she saw him clearly.

"Lauren, relax," Spock said. "You are safe now."

Staring, Lauren rubbed her aching temples. Yes, it _was_ Spock—weary-looking and a bit dirty, the shoulder of his uniform blackened. A smell of charred cloth mingled with the antiseptic odor of sickbay. What was she doing here? She felt drained and light-headed, as if she had been drugged. At Spock's gentle urging, she lay back on a pillow.

"You will recover," he assured her. "I took it upon myself to assess your…mental situation. There will be no permanent damage from Sybok's meddling."

Lauren tried to remember. There had been the strange meld with Sybok, and then— The rank smell of burnt fabric intensified. She looked at Spock's singed jacket and her thoughts snapped into focus. "You're hurt!"

"It is unimportant," Spock said, but the strain on his face belied the Vulcan's words. This time he made no effort to stop her as she sat up, unfastened his jacket, and carefully inspected the underlying layer of singed clothing. She found a similar area over his right shoulder blade, as if some type of energy weapon had discharged straight through his body.

"Looks like an electrical burn," Lauren said. "Who did this?" When Spock was slow to reply, she growled, "Sybok! It was him—wasn't it?"

Spock averted his face and drew a slow breath. "Sybok is…dead."

Relief flooded Lauren, only to be swept aside by a new, horrifying idea. Had Spock and Sybok fought? Had Spock been forced to kill his own brother? She watched him rearrange his clothes and stiffen slightly as the material rubbed his injury. It was all she could do to hold back the tears. But if ever Spock needed her calm and steady, it was now. "How?" she asked. "Tell me how it happened."

Spock took a moment to collect himself. Then in a halting voice he spoke of Sybok's lifelong religious delusions, how from an early age Sybok had believed he was the "shiav" or "savior" foretold in ancient texts. A power-hungry entity may have caused those delusions, and that same entity—masquerading as God—had killed Sybok when they arrived at "Sha Ka Ree". It was that entity who had wounded Spock during its failed attempt to gain control of the Enterprise. Spock might have added that in his view all religious beliefs were delusional and therefore dangerous. Lauren read it in his eyes. But he knew of her firm faith in God and that she would argue for it.

"Sybok's power," she said, "that strange hold he had over people—did it come from the entity, too?"

"No," Spock replied as if the admission were not an easy one. "Sybok's powers were highly developed, but they were not unknown to Vulcans."

Remembering, Lauren shuddered. "I…I tried to hold him off…but his eyes…his eyes seemed to reach inside me."

Spock's mouth tightened. "I sensed it happening to you and there was nothing I could do. In that moment…and even later…I wanted to kill him. Yet…when I saw Sybok die…I experienced sorrow."

"He was your brother."

Spock gave her a questioning look. "He told you?"

"Yes."

Spock's gaze shifted to some distant world that only he could see. "He was Sarek's firstborn, by a Vulcan priestess who later turned against the teachings of Surak. I intended to inform you."

"In the lab."

He nodded. "At that time I was not sure if it was Sybok. So many years had passed. I was only a boy."

Lauren touched his hand. She longed for the privacy to hold him close and share his grief, but that would have to come later. For a time she closed her eyes and lay quietly, satisfied just to have him this near. Finally she said, "Better get that shoulder taken care of. I'm surprised Doctor McCoy has let you go this long."

"I told him to leave me alone," Spock revealed.

"And he listened?"

As if on cue, the cubicle curtains parted and in walked the chief surgeon. McCoy looked so gray and worn that Lauren could only wonder what private hell he had been through these past hours.

"Well, well," he drawled, "sleeping beauty has finally awakened. You'll be happy to know, my dear, that Spock here says you're suffering from nothing more than a bad meld, and you're going to be just fine. And so, incidentally, do I—as if _my_ opinion counts for a hill of beans around here. Now," he grimly eyed Spock, "if I can just borrow the brilliant physician for a few minutes, I could use his help in treating a particularly recalcitrant crewmember…"

Lauren gave a wan smile. "Go ahead, take him."

McCoy pointed at her. "And you—stay put and rest awhile longer. Doctor's orders."

Lauren had no intention of arguing. Once more she closed her eyes, content to know that sooner or later she would hear about all the strange happenings aboard ship and on the "paradise planet". For now, it was enough to know that everyone was safe.

oooo

The following evening there was a party on the forward observation deck. Lauren stood alone on the fringes, the incongruously gay sounds of the reception washing over her. She still felt a little weak, but more than that she felt awkward, out of place, with her half empty glass of Altair water and her unbending sobriety. Beyond the view panes loomed the planet Sybok had called Sha Ka Ree. He had not found his paradise there, only disillusionment and death. Why had the captain chosen this room, with this particular view, to wine and dine with the Klingons who had helped rescue him from the powerful entity below? It just didn't seem right, and not only because of Sybok's recent death—Spock's own brother. Hadn't these same Klingons first tried to blast the Enterprise out of existence while the landing party was on the planet? That's what everyone had told her. Klingons couldn't be trusted. Look at what they did to Spock and his daughter after they were kidnapped. And had Kirk forgotten that Klingons killed his own son? Yet here they all were, standing around, playing this ridiculous game of galactic politics.

Beside her a door opened with only a slight groan of protest. Spock stepped from the lift and joined her, his expression coldly controlled. Lauren's heart went out to him as his dark eyes swept the observation deck and came to rest on the deceptively peaceful-looking planet in full view. She had suspected he was coming, and some part of her actually admired him for it, but she could not help wishing he had taken her advice instead. There was no need for him to make an appearance here. No one—not even the captain—really expected it.

"Please don't," she said under her breath. "Don't put yourself through this."

His jaw tightened—a barely perceptible response, but the Vulcan equivalent of a snit. Without so much as a word to her, he turned and walked into the gathering.

"Spock," she said. He heard her, but kept moving anyway.

She shook her head in annoyance. There was no pain, no secret that she was not willing to share with the man. And here he was, embracing his rigid concept of duty and pushing her away. _Fine,_ she seethed, _go ahead and lock me out. Never mind that I only came to this ridiculous party thinking that_ _you_ _might. Moral support, I figured. As if you need help from me or anyone else. Stubborn, self-absorbed—_

A waiter drifted by with a tray of fresh drinks. Absently Lauren traded her lukewarm water for an innocent looking beverage in a frosty glass. Her eyes followed Spock as she lifted the cold drink to her lips and took a sip. Its fumes stole her breath. A fiery trickle scorched its way down the back of her throat, choking her.

"You okay?" McCoy strode up and thumped her between the shoulder blades.

Red-faced from coughing, she nodded.

"Hmph," he said, whisking the drink from her hand with a fatherly air and sniffing it. "An Albedaran blindsider. Not for beginners, my dear. And definitely not for convalescents."

"I'm fine," Lauren gasped. She half expected McCoy to down the incendiary mixture himself. Instead, he deposited it on a nearby table and turned his attention to the party.

"It's enough to drive a person to drink, alright," he said sourly. "Damned inappropriate, if you ask me. After everything that's happened, and Sybok hardly cold in his grave…" His voice trailed off and he edged closer, making sure no one overheard his next words. "Tell me, Laurie. How's Spock taking it?"

Surprised, Lauren looked at him. McCoy's blue eyes were serious and accepting, as if he had already grown used to the idea of her intimacy with Spock, as if he had never made light of it. She took a moment to consider the question. How was Spock taking his brother's death? "Like a Vulcan," she said at last.

McCoy nodded and moved on. Alone once more, Lauren considered what she had just said. Sometimes Spock tried her patience, but more likely than not, it only meant that he was acting like a Vulcan. No doubt he sometimes found her human ways just as annoying.

She scanned the milling crowd of partygoers for a glimpse of him. Spock was still here somewhere—she felt sure of it. She saw McCoy walk up to the captain and shake his head in some kind of complaint. At the other side of the room, Chief Engineer Scott was drinking with an equally portly Klingon. They both looked like they'd had a few too many.

Suddenly Spock came into sight. His eyes found hers and there was a warm stirring within her. He seemed different now, as if a wall had been let down. In a moment he stood at her side, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on some distant point. In a low voice he said, "Several people have approached me and spoken kindly of Sybok. I find it…most remarkable. Sybok held them hostage. He controlled their minds."

"Sybok was deluded," she pointed out. "You said it yourself yesterday. But in the end he saw his mistake. He gave his life—for you—for all of us. And the crew knows he was your brother." Spock cast her a quizzical look and she added, "Don't tell me it's not logical."

"That was not my intention," he countered. "I am aware of the human custom of offering condolences. However…" His angular eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. His eyes hardened as they settled on General Korrd and the other Klingons present. "It is not solely a matter of _human_ courtesy. Even _they_ find something to admire in Sybok."

Lauren studied Spock's face as he gazed at the Klingons. Few beside her would have detected the subtle note of distaste on his carefully ordered features. Few beside her would have understood the reason for it. No longer caring who noticed, she rested her fingers on his arm. Quietly she said, "I heard about what happened after you and McCoy beamed up from the planet." Spock looked embarrassed, but she continued on. "If the Klingons admire Sybok, it's because of what you said, what you did. Bending old General Korrd to your will, working side by side with the Klingons to get Jim off that planet."

"I only did what was necessary. My duty as a Starfleet officer."

"Exactly," she said, proud of how far he had progressed. This man beside her scarcely resembled the wounded victim of Klingon brutality who only months earlier had lost his flight clearance and considered suicide. "You met your first real test and passed it. You stayed in control. And look at you, standing here in the same room with them, accepting their condolences—"

"Who would've believed it?" McCoy's voice startled Lauren, but neither she nor Spock drew away from one another. The time for secrecy was over.

Beside her, McCoy waved a champagne flute at the Klingons and crewmembers socializing on the observation deck. "Side by side, actually communicating. Ironic, isn't it?" He slowly shook his head. "All because of Spock's brother."

Spock gazed out over the strange gathering in silence. Then he nodded. "Perhaps it is, after all, a fitting memorial."

oooo

It was late in sickbay. McCoy had left the reception to sit pondering in his office, dress jacket unfastened, boots propped casually on his desk. A shot glass of fine Kentucky bourbon, though within reach, was all but untouched. He did not know why he had even poured it—old habit, he supposed. Lord knows, he could use a drink, but somehow it didn't taste good tonight. It seldom did anymore, not since those crazy weeks when he packed around Spock's katra. Why, he hadn't had a decent snootful since Jim scared the pants off of him with that fall at Yosemite. And Jim was still talking about going back! Hadn't they all seen enough of danger and death?

Shortly before midnight he roused from a drowsy state to find someone standing in the doorway. He rubbed his eyes and did a double take. "Good grief, Spock. How long have you been there?"

"Three-point-seven minutes," the Vulcan answered with his usual precision. Shutting the office door, he came closer. "Doctor, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

"This time of night?" McCoy dropped his boots to the floor and straightened in his chair. "What's the matter—that shoulder giving you some trouble?" A foolish thing to ask, of course. Even if the Vulcan's injury were hurting, he would never have complained about it.

Drawing himself up a bit taller, Spock fixed his gaze on the desktop. "I have reached a decision. If you please, I would like you to…remove my scars."

McCoy reached for the shot glass and downed its contents in one searing gulp. The cobwebs began to clear from his head. "The scars, Spock? On your back? The ones that damn Klingon—"

"Yes," Spock said. "And the scar on my chest. A knife injury."

McCoy could hardly believe his ears. For almost two years the Vulcan had stolidly resisted having anyone look at, let alone touch those ugly souvenirs of his kidnapping and enslavement. But McCoy had finally glimpsed some of the scarring when he treated Spock's burns. For the Vulcan's sake he had kept his mouth shut, and now he wondered what had finally brought Spock around to this. Sybok's death? His relationship with Lauren? Whatever the reason, it seemed a healthy sign, wanting to put the past completely behind him.

Dark Vulcan eyes met his. "Doctor?"

It was likely as close as McCoy would ever see Spock come to begging. It was as close as McCoy would ever _want_ to see him come. "Now?" asked McCoy. "Right now?"

"This cannot be a convenient time for you."

"I'll be the judge of that," McCoy said, rising. "Come on, let's get to it before you change your mind."

"I am not going to change my mind," Spock asserted, but he followed the doctor anyway.

McCoy led him to a private surgery and locked the door. At the doctor's instruction Spock silently stripped to the waist and stretched facedown on the treatment table. Seeing the full scope of the damage, McCoy struggled to contain his outrage. It was hard to think of Spock's Vulcan dignity being violated in such a brutal, degrading manner. If the repeated beatings had done this to Spock's body, what must they have done to his soul? After waving a medscanner, he put on his best clinical voice. "The growth of scar tissue is extensive. Some of these are pretty deep—but we'll get the job done. It'll just take longer, that's all."

McCoy worked on him through the night. Under his expert treatment the stubborn scar tissue gradually gave way to normal healthy skin. As morning approached, McCoy should have been worn out, but he wasn't. Perhaps it was the strangeness of the scene that held his weariness at bay. Perhaps it was the hypnotic hum of the medical instrument he guided with patience and determination. So few words were spoken that it was a bit jarring when he finally said, "Okay Spock, that part's done. You can sit up."

Spock changed position and McCoy examined the long, ugly slash crossing the Vulcan's chest. "I don't suppose you want to tell me how you got this one," he said, applying the medical wand over the slender length of the scar. "A knife, you said? Was it a fight?" As if Spock would violate that Vulcan privacy of his and actually tell him. Maybe McCoy _was_ getting tired, after all. Maybe they both were, for to his surprise Spock actually started talking in a low, rough voice.

"It happened…the evening before T'Beth and I were rescued."

McCoy's hand paused. "Of course. I remember now. Your clothes were torn in front. There was blood on them."

"I had spent the day slaughtering livestock," Spock said matter-of-factly, but his eyes held a look of distant, remembered pain. "Later, the knife came up missing. Torlath thought I had taken it. He was…going to cut my throat."

"But you stopped him."

Spock's eyebrow rose. "Stopped him? There was no way for me to stop him, Doctor. Any hint of resistance on my part would have sentenced T'Beth to physical torture, or worse. I had already seen her beaten."

"My God," breathed McCoy. "He made you _watch?"_

Spock did not say anything. He didn't have to. The bitterness in the Vulcan's eyes was enough. Thinking of his own daughter, McCoy shivered. Until this moment he had never fully realized all that Spock had gone through. And he asked, "How, man? How could you stand it?"

A dark hint of a smile played around Spock's lips. "Do you really think I am so different from you?"

Shaken to his depths, McCoy looked away. Silently he retreated back into his work, eliminating the knife scar little by little. It was a long while before he was satisfied. "There," he said, giving the Vulcan's chest one last inspection. "That'll do for now. The skin in those areas might be a little tender for a bit, but the scars are gone. Check back in a day or so and I'll take another look."

Spock stood and put on his shirt. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Sure, Spock." McCoy turned away and busied himself with tidying the room, but the horrifying images of torture lingered in his mind. It was almost as if Spock were still a part of him, as if the tug of the Vulcan's katra was drawing him back. _Resonances,_ Spock called them.

Quietly Spock came up beside him. Fastening his jacket, he said, "Doctor. Are you alright?"

McCoy drew a deep breath. "Yes. I think so. Why?"

Spock hesitated. "I have not spoken to you about what happened in the forward observation room. It would have been bad enough had Sybok only entered your mind, but for him to project images of your private memories…in full view of the captain and myself…" He shook his head. "It was as brutal and criminal an act as anything Torlath devised. I am deeply ashamed of my brother's actions. Please permit me to apologize."

McCoy was taken aback. "There's no need, Spock. There was nothing _you_ could do." But a scene rose in his mind—Spock holding Sybok at gunpoint in shuttle bay…making no attempt to stop his brother.

Perhaps Spock was reliving the same memory. The Vulcan held McCoy's gaze for a moment, then wordlessly opened the door and left. McCoy moved to the doorway and watched him walk away.


End file.
